Taking the Long Way Home
by Idojgrrl
Summary: I wrote this a long time ago, but am just now sharing it. This picks up sort of in the middle of the life of Topper, a wayward Glass Walker who is trying to figure out where she's meant to be. Input is welcome! May be mature eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Late afternoon on a Tuesday, a young woman pushed her way through the crowd and off the platform of North station. She looked up at the vaulted ceiling and hefted a worn out back pack higher on her shoulder. She followed the shuffling, murmuring well dressed businessmen and trendy college students out onto the sidewalk. The gray sky loomed with the threat of snow, taxi's and buses stuttered past spewing exhaust, horns blared and cell phones sounded off and Topper smiled. She was finally home.

She looked up and down the street. Her eyes fell on a figure half a block down. He was well dressed, wrapped in a brown overcoat leaning against the wall. Casually, he checked his watch, looked down the street at her and tapped the face with his finger. She weaved her way toward him, ignoring the implication that she was late. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms as she said, "No car?"

The man pushed himself off the wall and put a long arm over her shoulder. "Not with gas prices this high, kid," He pulled her away from the wall, steering her toward the subway entrance across the street. She put up only nominal resistance, so happy to be home even harry couldn't spoil it. Still, a car would have been nice.

They stepped off the curb into traffic, crossed swiftly, ignoring the cars as if they where the alone on the street.

Down on the platform, Topper looked around at the faces passing them.

"So," she started, "No one else came down?"

Harry shifted his stance and unwrapped his arm from her shoulder, busying himself with his coat buttons.

"Well, kid," he coughed, "You know how it is. Meetings and business and all." Harry knew he was not the first person Topper wanted to see. He cast a short glance sideways to see how she'd react. Her eyes stayed fixed down the tunnel in anticipation of the train.

"Actually," he said, dropping the facade and lowering his voice so she had to turn to hear him, "Most everyone's down in DC. They needed reinforcements of the 'highly organized' variety. He'd be here if he could, sugar, you know that."

Topper could tell by the tone in his voice he was being sincere. Her head turned back to the oncoming train, a look of concern knitting her brow. Life hadn't slowed in her absence.

"Don't worry, kid," Harry went on, "Jack's the best, he'll be back by dinner."

The train pulled up and they rode in silence to Harvard square. Topper watched every detail pass in grateful recognition. She noted the changes and reveled in the familiarities. She beat Harry to the turn-styles and bounded up the steps two at a time. Harry watched, half amused, half amazed she could still have all the energy of youth as he dragged himself up the steps to the square.

On the street, Topper had already bought a coffee and started the last bit of walk to the Liberty. Unconcerned that Harry was now a half a block behind, she quickened her steps the closer she got to home. And then it was there. A tall narrow building squeezed in between the other tall narrow buildings. Raising her eyes up to identify her bedroom window, she spotted a small red rimmed banner with a blue star in the center. She frowned.

"He shouldn't do that," she said to Harry as he came up behind her. "I didn't serve."

"Where you in Iraq?" He asked as he brushed past her and started across the street.

"I was embedded, Harry, it isn't the same thing," she followed.

"Don't tell Jack that," he pushed open the door and started climbing. "'She's gettin' shot at like a soldier," he imitated Jack's gravelly voice, "she gets honored like a soldier.' And that was the end of that."

Topper was genuinely surprised, and touched.

The evening passed with remarkable speed. Harry reacquainted her with Jack's spacious top floor apartment. Not much had changed. A few new artifacts, new couch, new lights. Jack didn't change anything in her room. Not even her clothes. Stacks of spiral notebooks filled every open space, every shelf. The appeared undisturbed. She picked one up off the dresser as she dropped he bag on the bed. No dust. Well, she thought, if anybody snooped, they where brilliant about it. And clean. With slight hesitance, she thumbed through the first few scribbled pages. What she read made her shutter. With effort, she dropped the notes of her life back onto the stack. With considerably less effort, she stripped off her travel clothes, strode through the empty apartment and spent the rest of the night in the hot tub with a few pints of Ben and Jerry's. She scrubbed her skin, washed her hair and scrubbed again. After staying in the water until her skin wrinkled like a bull dog puppy, she wrapped herself in the biggest, softest blanket she could find and put a very loud movie on the big screen. Before settling onto the couch, she opened all the windows so she could feel the cold. And with a sigh, and a beer, she waited for sleep.

When Topper woke, she was in her bed. The windows were cracked, but the shades were pulled and the sound of traffic drifted in from below. On the table next to the bed was a cupcake with an unlit sparkler stuck in it. Next to the plate, a zippo. Topper smiled.

"Happy birthday to me?" shew asked, following the sound of clanking into the kitchen.

"Figure I'd missed a few," said the man over the stove.

Topper smiled at his back and started licking the frosting off the cupcake. She leaned against the doorway and watched him bob around the undersized kitchen.

Everything was short, to match Jack's reduced stature. This morning he had donned a "kiss the cook" apron, which looked ridiculously small tied around his barrel chest.

"Sit," he said, waving a spatula at her, but not turning around, "I made eggs, and bacon. And toast. And some sausage."

"For the two of us?" she asked lighting the sparkler and waving it around as she wandered to the table. She set the zippo on the counter next to him. Quickly, and still without looking at her, he covered her hand with his wide stubby one, he lowered her hand down onto the lighter.

"Keep it," he said. "As a welcome home gift." He gave her hand a small squeeze and went back to the eggs.

Topper blinked at him, picked up the lighter and examined it. She recognized it as one Jack had lit his pipes with for years. It had an old inscription from his years in the service. Under the old inscription with fresh lettering, her name, her dates. She closed her fingers around it tightly.

"Thanks Jack," she said, and kissed him on the top of his bald head, the grabbed a caereal bowl from the cabinet.

As if some unspoken fog had cleared from the space between them, Jackl turned and looked at her. He frowned, grunted and put a plate of bacon on the table in front of her.

"They didn't feed you enough," he said.

"I don't eat much."

He grunted again, "Since when?"

"Since I started eating army food."

Jack laughed.

Topper smiled and helped herself to bacon.

Two helpings and four cups of coffee later a knock came on the door.

"You get that?" Jack asked from the sink where he had started washing dishes.

"Sure," Topper finished off her latest mug and bound to the door.

The door opened to a mountain in blue jeans and a baseball cap.

"Topper!" the mountain stepped through the door, scooped her up and threw her into the air as though she weighed nothing.

"George!" she screamed, coming down with her arms around his neck in a ferocious squeeze.

He bear hugged her all the way back to the table where he dropped her back into her chair.

"I hope you don;t mind, I invited some people," Jack smiled as he pulled out more plates.

Harry had followed George in, followed by a large, though not mountainous, man in slick black denim pants and a red leather racing jacket with the number 23 blazoned on the sleeves.

Topper gasped and lept from the table. She jumped into his embrace and pressed her face into his shoulder. He returned the affection, not as vehemently as George, but with no less sincerity, holding her gently, as if he was afraid he'd break her if he squeezed too hard.

"I didn't get that kind of reception," Harry sipped his coffee in mock hurt as he pulled out a newspaper and a laptop.

"We were in public," Topper retorted, sliding out of Twenty Three's embrace and leading him to the table.

"Never bothered you before," he sniffed into his mug.

She kissed him on the cheek on her way back to her seat, "Better?"

"Thank you, I feel less ignored," he folded the paper in half and frowned at an article. He started typing furiously.

George and Twenty Three had set into the now rapidly diminishing piles of food. Jack poured another coffee and took his seat at the head of the table.  
>He surveyed his team and with his eyes settling on Harry, he said, "Alright, Chase, what's the damage?"<p>

Harry shook his head and continued to type, "We'll have to go back down."

Topper choked on her drink. Everyone looked at her. "Sorry," she gurgled, "You're leaving again?"

All eyes turned to Jack. He looked a little uncomfortable.

"Its ok, Jack," she said, "I know, nothing stops for long."

He looked a little bit relieved. "Yeah then, Harry and Twenty Three, clean up duty in DC.

"Can I go?" Topper asked.

All eyes swung back to her. Now Jack looked really uncomfortable.

"Ach," he cleared his throat. The eyes turned back to him. He looked at his girl intently. He knew that was coming. "No," he said flatly.

The eyes swung again.

Topper leveled her gaze and said, "Ok."

The eyes where shocked.

So was Jack.

He straitened a bit at the easy win. Nodding he said, "Ok then." he checked for any residual protest. Topper watched him over her coffee cup. Slowly, attention returned to Jack.

"George and I are going out of town," he continued.

"We are?" George mumbled through his eggs. "Where we goin'?"

"I'll tell ya when we get there."

"Can I come with?" Topper asked, knowing she was crossing a line.

Jack looked at her, knowing she was pushing on purpose. "You'll mind the shop for me this week.

She sighed into her coffee, clearly disappointed. "Sure thing Jack," she said without complaint.

Harry and George looked at each other across the table.

Jack continued talking general business with Harry while everyone ate. There was some chat about what Topper had missed, would the Red Sox take the pennant and did she meet anyone "special" overseas. Topper rolled her eyes.

"Everyone I meat is a little special," she said, taking her plate to the sink. "Just like here."

Jack and Harry settled on a plan of attack for his absence, the Jack started on the dishes. Harry pulled a cell phone out and retreated to the den.

Topper took a few pans and set them in the sink.

"You know," she said quietly a she grabbed a towel and started to dry, "I'm not a kid any more, Jack. I can handle whatever. I can help."

"Everyone's a kid to Jack," Harry said as he passed to the fridge to grab a coke.

"Shut it, Harry," Jack growled. He looked at topper. "You've been gone a while. Why don't you just stay put? Relax. You need time to unwind."

"But Jack," she started he argument. Harry could hear the twinge in her voice. He sat at the table to watch the exchange. "I've been down for a few weeks." she followed him to the table. "Kuwait, Germany a few days, NC...

"But you just got HOME," he said, turning to look up at her. She met his stare, trying top rekindle her argument. Harry waited for the fireworks, for the indignant yelling, the adolescent begging. But they didn't come. Topper stared at Jack, who didn't budge, and then she sat down to finish her coffee. Jack went back to the sink.

Surprised, Harry put down his coke. He leaned across the table.

"Let him be the father, will you kid?" he said with a low voice and a grin. "He'll be much less insufferable if he knows you're safe," he looked over his shoulder at Jack, "at least for a week."

Topper sighed, looked back at Jack and went to join George and Twenty Three in the tv room.

"You know She's right," Harry said after she was gone, "she hasn't been kid for a long time." There was an awkward pause. "And its not like she's never been shot at before."

Jack sighed. He dropped the dish rag in the sink and walked out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Topper had curled onto the couch between George and 23, her head on George's stomach, her feet across 23's legs. They had started watching a cartoon network avatar marathon. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so safe.

Jack entered the room bouncing an envelope between his fingers. he held it out over the couch where Topper could see.

"What's this?" she asked, swinging her feet around and sitting up.

"From your sister," he said, "Dropped it off downstairs yesterday."

There was no name on the sealed envelope.

"How'd you know it was her?" Topper asked as she carefully unsealed the fold. It was a card sized red envelope, like an invitation.

"Smell," he said.

Topper sniffed it. There was heavy smell of incense and verbena. It almost made her head spin.

"Wow," she mouthed silently as she slid the card out.

"Did you keep in touch, you two?"

"Yes, we did," Topper's voice was detached as she read the letter. She looked up at Jack, a frown on her face.

Jack looked at her and said with parental finality, "Stay here for a week, then you can get back to work."

Topper stayed on the couch with George for the rest of the morning blissfully eating captain crunch and drinking chocolate milk. Twenty Three and Harry left halfway through the marathon, presumably to DC. Harry winked at her as he walked out saying, "Glad to have you back, kid. I told 'im you'd be fine."

Twenty Three, rather uncharacteristic of his stoic nature, kissed her on the cheek. He pulled her off the couch with one hand and hugged her. He looked into her eyes and said, "Be careful."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Doing what? I'm minding the shop all week."

He looked at the letter tucked into her waist band.

"Just be careful," and they headed out the door.

"What was that about?" George asked as she sat back down.

"Dunno," she said, pulling the blanket up over her lap. "23 out grew me a while ago, I don't know what he's thinking anymore."

"Now what's THAT suppose to mean?"

Topper shrugged. "I used to know him real well, we used to be close. He grew up, I didn't. I just think he outgrew me. I mean look at him, he looks good." She stared at the door where he had been. "He looks great."

"So? You look great too."

Topper laughed. "I mean he looks real put together. He's totally cool with who he is and what he does. And he has been for a while. It took me a real long time to be ok with that. Too long."

"But you're ok wth it now."

"Most days, "she looked at him, "You too, you've been good with you as long as I've known you."

He smiled, "Most days."

"All right, kids," Jack murmured as he wandered into the room, "Get yer coats, I'm taking you two to lunch."

When Jack did lunch, he did it in style. They took the suburban down to the yacht club, tipped the valet and dressed more like they belonged at the construction site, took a primo table overlooking the harbor.

"Fancy," Topper smiled, "Is this for me?"

"Can't a guy do somethin' nice?"

George pulled out Topper's chair and then took a seat. "So why am I here?" he asked.

"Right place, right time."

They ordered as a ship made a wide loop out on the water.

"So, whadda ya wanna do now that yer home, Tops?"

"Bathe regularly," she said into her soup.

"No seriously," George laughed.

"Well, go see Mel, I guess."

Jack raised a bushy eyebrow. "You said you two talked?"

"Emailed mostly," she mumbled through a piece of bread. "Actually," she swallowed, "we only ever email."

"Hmph, I see you haven't learned restaurant manners overseas."

Topper stopped chewing and took a sudden mental inventory of her current position. She was slightly hunched over, her elbows on the table, a fork in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. She looked, in her own head, as if she might take the waiter's arm off if her came for the plates too soon. She glanced sideways at George who was stiffing a laugh.

Straitening, she swallowed, laid her fork down and lifted the napkin daintily between her fingertips. Laying it gracefully on her lap, she folded her hands in front of her.

"Sorry," she smiled.

"I thought you weren't eating much," Jack grinned.

"Oh, good food, I'm all about good food," she resumed easting at a less frantic pace. "What about you? Where are you two going?"

George looked at Jack. as curious as Topper. Jack looked at both of them, his face set in a resigned grimace.

"We're going to Milwaukee, by way of Tampa."

"That's a hell of a round about," George pointed out.

"Well one leads to the other, trust me."

"Ok, how?"

"We're helping Scott with a 'recovery' project," he mumbled.

"Gatsby?"

"Yes."

George smiled, "Well ok then."

"You don't even know what you're going for," Topper scolded.

"I trust Gatsby," he said easily, "Don't you?"

Topper paused. She realized Jack was eyeing her intently.

"Yeah," she said honestly, if not a little slowly. "I'd just like to know what he was getting me into. If I where you," she added quickly."

"Well good," Jack said, going back to his plate, "'cause you'll be joining us at the end of the week."

Topper choked on her drink.

"I thought you wanted me to rest," she finally managed.

"I do," Jack sipped his drink, enjoying it fully, "so you can come to Milwaukee."

"Why didn't you say so before?"

"I got my reasons."

And that ended the discussion.

Lunch was long, lasting well into dinner. They talked about what everyone had done while she was away, George and Jack steering away from any of the negatives. She'd kept abreast of the news at home, but she wanted to hear it all again, embellished and with full detail. So much of the time felt unreal, disconnected and melted into someone else's story. When they did finally leave, George parted for the subway, squeezing Topper in one last bear hug.

"See you in a week, Kiddo," he said, and disappeared down the street to the tunnel.

Topper shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets and sighed.

"Where to now, Jack?" she asked, looking up at the snow that was finally falling.

"Home, I guess," he said. "I got some prep to do."

"Right," she said heading toward the valet stand.

The remainder of her first full day home was spent rearranging the contents of her room. She kept the window open as she moved stacks of old notebooks, unpacked new ones and threw out all the clothes she had worn for months. At about 11:30, Jack knocked on the door.

"You descent?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she pulled her head out from under the bed where she had made room for a box of old camera equipment and old digital voice recorders.

"You moved a lot of stuff," he observed.

"It didn't look like you had changed anything," she flopped onto the bed.

Jack coughed a little, "Not since you left."

Topper smiled.

"I'm leaving to get George," he changed the subject, "No need to call, unless its an emergency," he added quickly, "but I don't know where exactly we'll be."

"I'll be fine Jack."

"The shop can really mind itself," he went on, "So don't worry too much about it." He tossed an envelope in front of her. "Here's bus tickets and travel money for Milwaukee. You leave Sunday."

"Bus?" she looked at the tickets.

"Low profile," he said, "Moonbridge'd be too risky."

She nodded and put the envelope into her backpack.

"So," he started, "Relax this week."

"I'll be fine, Jack," she tried to reassure him, "Really."

He looked at her, as if he wasn't really sure she would, put his hands in his pockets and finally nodded. "Of course you will. I'll see you Sunday."

The door clicked shut and Topper sat alone on the bed for a long time. She listened to his footfalls down the hall. He paused at the door, the shut it softly. when she was sure he was gone, wouldn't come back for a forgotten anything, she pulled out the red envelope that had been tucked into her pocket all day. she sniffed it, turned it over in her hand and unfolded the flap. A tidy card that read on the front: Welcome Home. She opened it.

Dear Brandy,  
>I am so happy you are home safe. I need to see you, I'd like to see you, as soon as you are settled in. leave word at the Windham Tea House, I'm there most afternoons.<br>Truly,  
>Melany<p>

Topper rolled the card over in her fingers. Of course she wanted to see Mel. They'd sent emails back and forth. Mel had been in Europe for a while, working. Topper had sent her some pictures. she didn't want to worry her, so the less said the better.

"Dear Brandy," Topper reread. Mel was the only person alive who called her Brandy.

She rolled over and dug her cell phone out of the bags at the other end of the bed.

"Hello?" How late are tea houses open, anyway? "I'm trying to find Melany Wickford, is she around? Well can you tell her Top...uhm, Brandy called? I'll be at the Liberty Cafe all say tomorrow. she can reach me there. Great. Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

The longer the time ticked into the afternoon, the more nervous Topper became. She glanced repeatedly from clock to door.

"What does she look like?" Topper mumbled to herself. she tried to recall her sister's face or hair or height. It was all very fuzzy in her head. Two years seemed even longer suddenly. Suddenly overwhelmed with guilt for not knowing her own sister, Topper drew a long sip of coffee and leaned heavily on her hand. Not totally your fault, she reasoned, you haven't known each other that long.

The bell jingling as the door opened drew her out of her thoughts. She glanced up. a woman stood at the door, glancing around the room. They caught eyes and she smiled. Topper sat a little taller in the chair. With a deep breath, Mel swept toward the table. Topper stood a little unsure of herself. Mel was neatly dressed, she didn't look like the starving college student Topper remembered. She had khaki's, a tailored shirt and carried her long wool coat over her arm. Her face wasn't older, exactly, but more worried. But her eyes where the same, and they took Topper in with the same absolute adoration she had the first time Topper remembered meeting her. Mel lay her coat over the back of the chair an smiled at her.

Topper smiled back. This was a very different reunion than she had with the boys. Mel stretched out both hands. With only the smallest hesitation, Topper reached out and took them. With an obvious sigh of relief, Mel pulled her into a heartfelt embrace.

"Oh Brandy," she said, "I am so glad you're home."

Topper relaxed and squeezed back, only a bit surprised to hear her real name. Mel was Topper's only real relative, they hadn't grown up together, still she was surprised at how much genuine emotion Mel held for her.

With some reluctance, Mel broke away and moved to sit down.

"Would you like some coffee?" Topper asked, not sure of what to sya.

"That would be lovely," Mel said, settling in.

Topper waved to the counter for two more drinks.

"So," Mel folded her hands on the table, "You look great."

"So do you," Topper said, kind of automatically.

"That's sweet of you," Mel said, the tone in her voice acknowledging Topper's white lie. "Did they take good care of you?"

"Who? The Government?" She shrugged. "They did what they could."

"I don't suppose you made it easy for them,"

Again age shrugged, "I did what I could?"

They sipped coffee in silence.

"So," Mel said, searching for a new topic, "Two years is a long time to embed, isn't it?"

"I was doing other things in between", Topper said, intentionally vague.

Mel raised an eyebrow behind her glasses.

"how about you?" Topper changed the subject, "How are things in your world?"

Mel blanched and Topper instantly knew the answer was "bad". Mel didn't answer right away. She took a sip of coffee and then a deep breath.  
>"Not well," she offered honestly. She looked across the table at her sister. She had wanted to put this part of the conversation off for a while, hopeful that they could, perhaps, enjoy a few normal moments. She put the cup down and said, "Brandy, I need your help."<p>

Topper got a sinking feeling in her stomach at the same time the hair on the back of her neck stood up. "My help?" she tried to sound very innocent, as if she where incapable of helping anyone.

Mel was having no less difficulty. She licked her suddenly dry lips. "I have lost something," she began, "I need your help to find it."

"I don't know how I could help you," Topper started honestly, "Mel we," she lowered her voice to an almost apologetic tone, "We barely know each other, I don't have anything from our family that could be yours. I mean," she trailed off. Mel was shaking her head. The sinking feeling got worse. "What is it you lost."

"I've lost a...connection," she said slowly.

When she didn't continue, Topper asked, "To...?"

Mel sighed, "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

Topper looked around. "Liberty is safe," she said with confidence. She waved her hand at the few other customers, "They won't hear what you say."

Mel looked surprised. "Really?" she looked around. "I intend to assassinate the Pope," she said over loud. No one even blinked.

Topper smiled, "Hiding in plain sight. Can't beat it."

Mel nodded but dropped her voice again anyway.

"I need you to take me to the umbra."

Topper almost choked.

"What?" she gasped, wiping the coffee off her shirt.

Mel remained clam. It was a tough request, she expected resistance. "I have lost my connection to the spirit from whom I draw my abilities, she explained. Topper was still staring at her in disbelief.

"I don't even know if that's possible," Topper mumbled, not hearing Mel's last comment. "Not to mention allowed," she said raising her eyebrows at the implications.

She looked at Mel. "I don't know if I can."

Mel nodded understanding, a portrait of clam.

"It is possible, difficult, but possible," she said.

"Why do you need to go?" Topper asked, "Why would you want to? Do you know what its like?" It's...it's craziness."

"Mel continued to nod. She took a deep breath and reached across the table for Topper's hand.

"Let me try to explain," she said quietly. "You and I are special." Topper nodded, not the patient nod her sister had given but a 'yeah, yeah, heard the special speech' nod. "But special in different ways."

"Mel I know what we are," she said hastily. Then she stopped, "Well, I know what I am," she said.

Mel's eyes dropped to the table.

"What are you?" Topper asked slowly.

"I had hoped to tell you sooner," Mel said, "but you left for Dartmouth and I could only just see you off. Then I never got to come see you, by the time you came back, I was gone. Then you were off to Iraq and," she sighed. "it just never seemed the right time.."

"Mel," Topper asked, "What exactly are you."

"I'm Verbana," she said, "I'm a witch."

To Mel's surprise, Topper let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank god," she said. She smiled across the table at Mel. "I thought it was something bad."

"You're ok with that?"

Still holding Mel's hand, she reached for her coffee with the other. "Mel some of my best friends are witches." She looked at Mel, suddenly cross, "You do mean a real namer, right? Not a Harvard square wanna-be poser witch, right?"

"Yes," Mel nodded, still surprised, "Real witch, Verbena. I'm sorry, I guess I just assumed you'd carry the same prejudice as most garou. Mr. Underwood was always so suspicious."

"Oh, I don't think like Jack," Topper said hastily. "Don't get me wrong, I love Jack. I'd do anything he asked, but we don't always agree." She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, "So, Jack knows?"

Mel nodded, "I had to get his permission to introduce myself to you. Miss Morgan insisted. She would have no 'diplomatic incidents' over it." She paused, "That and you where still recovering. I didn't think you'd remember, even. I had to go through him to see you."

Topper nodded, "So you've got to go to the umbra why?"

Mel pulled her attention back, "I've lost my attachment to the spiritual." She tried a different approach. "For you," she said, "for all of your kind, Gaia holds you to the spiritual. For us, individual spirits anchor us." Topper''s face began to show an understanding. "Imagine loosing Gaia," Mel continued, "Imagine how..."

"No," Topper stopped her, her eyes suddenly flooded with remembered panic, "I know exactly what you mean." She focused back on Mel's Face, "Ok. Ok, I'll try." She sat back in her chair, her hands sliding across the table and falling into her lap. "But I don't know how, or how long it will take. Shit," she suddenly remembered, "I have to me in Milwaukee on Sunday."

Mel sat silently, still calm, but clearly nervous. Suddenly, she was unsure of herself. Suddenly, asking Brandy, who she hardly knew, to take her to the umbra, a dwelling of dreams and spirits, seemed way out of bounds. Even for family.

"I wouldn't know where to look," Topper went on, almost to herself. She looked up suddenly, "Are you sure I'm the one you want to help you? A theurge would be better."

Mel shook her head. "My contact with other garou, even kinfolk, dwindled once I awakened," she explained, "they where rather relieved to let me go. I didn't complicate things by keeping in touch." she said this without any resentment. Genuinely sad, she added, "I know a few people. It's always good to know a few people. Shortstop, and Mr. Underwood, of course."

"Wow," Topper was very suddenly grateful for her pack and said a silent apology for all the times she begged them off her back. "what about other namers? You said its possible, that means you know someone who's done it?"

"Not personally, no," Mel admitted, "but the Dream Speakers are rumored to, on rare occasion."

"I don't know any dreams peakers," Topper said. "Mostly, my friends are, well, sort of unaffiliated, or techno-wizards."

"And this is sort of a deeply personal and hard to solve problem," Mel went on. "And it seems widespread."

"Widespread?" topper asked. "Like a bunch of you?"

Mel nodded. "We don't know what happened, or why. Some people have disappeared, run away. Some have lost their minds all together," she folded her hands on the table. "I've lost dear friends."

"I know how that is," Topper said quietly. She looked up at Mel. "How is it you seem ok?"

"Honestly?" she perked a little, "I think its because I am kinfolk. I think I've held on to something." she looked at Topper, trying to sound more confident than she felt, "I know I can find her, if I can. If you'll help me."

Topper's mind turned. She remembered the desperate thought she'd once had to search the umbra for her dead mother's spirit and how quickly she'd chickened out. She hated the umbra. But this was her sister, a phantom figure she'd only pretended was real until one day, there she was.

"I'll do it, I'll do it," she rushed. "We'll go." She pushed down the horrible feeling of doom that was so familiar to her she ignored the knowledge that, once again, she would be in terrible trouble. "Can you come tomorrow?"

"Yes," Mel said, her voice flooded with relief and hope. "I have some items to prepare," she looked at Topper, "I'm sure you do as well. What time?"

"Morning," Topper said, Early. 5am?"

"5am," Mel echoed, standing. She swung her coat on in one smooth motion. "Brandy, thank you. I can't thank you enough."

"Don't thank me yet," Topper said flatly. "I haven't done anything."

Smiling, Mel hugged her in the chair where she sat, put a five on the table and left.

Topper sat, too confounded by what she had agreed to to move. Slowly, she got up, cleared the mugs and dropped Mel's five in the tip jar. Slowly, she climbed the six flights of stair home.


	4. Chapter 4

Staring at her reflection her bed room mirror, Topper contemplated what she saw. Normally, she didn't pay much attention to her reflection, but she couldn't muster the courage to push herself into the umbra; so there she sat, staring. Raising her right hand, she placed her palm against the surface.

Gawd, she thought, looking at the burn scars that ran up her arm and under her sleeve. Mel must think...I wonder what Mel thinks.

The thought of her sister and her promise to help pulled her out of her self pity. With trepidation, but new resolve, she took a deep breath and pressed her palm against the mirror and pushed forward. The glass rippled like a pool of murcury and gave way to her hand like wet clay. Then she pushed her left arm through and before she could change her mind, plunged in as if into cool water.

Cold water. Cold water, she thought as she felt the icy grip of the cross over and lost her breath from the shock. Opening her eyes, she forcibly sucked air into her lungs and tried to focus. How was she going to get Mel over when she was so bad at it herself? She shook her head and looked around. Her room was similar 'here' to 'there'. It felt comfortable. She'd never crossed over in her own room before. She looked around. Her notebooks, spiral bound and tattered, where gone. In their place, leather journals. Each one an inch think and neatly labeled. And crawling with spiders. Awestruck, she reached for one. Small spider spirits climbed up her arms as she paged through the months before she left. She ignored them. Her bubbly handwriting had been replaced with detailed, comic book like graphics. Her words where there, floating in and out of the pictures.

"Wow," she breathed. She put it down and scanned the rest. The spiders nestled back into the stack, leaving strands of silk in their path.

Everything else looked older, neater, like the perfect idea of the bedroom of a teenage girl. She stepped into the hall, uncertain of what she'd find.  
>While her room looked like her room, if not a bit romanticised the rest of the apartment was, well, not. Although she should probably have guessed. Old timber and post filled with waddle opened up into a great room with a fire place that burned cheerfully. It looked homey and smelled like a well seasoned roast, It was the moist pleasant place in the near umbra she'd ever been. She crept forward, afraid it would disappear into some horrible nightmare before her eyes. She followed the smell out into the larger room.<p>

"Well, I knew you'd come."

Topper almost jumped out of her skin at the barrel deep voice. She spun around the corner to face it.

"But I didn't think so soon."

The man, well, she knew he wasn't a man really, but he pulled it off well. He was dressed in short breeches and a linen smock. His hair was long, but pulled back in short braid at the back of his neck.

"I know you," she ventured.

He nodded and offered her a mug. She took it, eying it sceptically. "You're usually downstairs," she said into the mug.

He nodded again, amused.

"So," she didn't want to be rude, "What, uhm, brings you up here?"

"Keeping an eye on the place," he smiled as he stood and went to stoke the fire. "Told Cerebus I'd keep an eye on everything."

Cerebus? She thought. She hadn't heard Jack called that in years, maybe a decade.

"You've known Jack a while?" she followed him, glancing around the room for other spirits she might not be expecting.

"Long as he's been here," he turned. "I been here a while. I'm Douglas." he extended his hand.

"Douglas?" she asked, "Really?" It seemed an odd name for a spirit. She cautiously extended her hand. She didn't have a great track record with spirits.

"Why? what's wrong with Douglas?" he looked cross.

"Nothing!" she amended quickly. "It just, uhm...oh boy."

Douglas laughed, "You need to relax little sister."

"Heh," she half laughed with relief. He reached out and took her hand, shaking it vigorously.

"Soooo," he smiled, returning to his rounds. "What brought you here?"

Topper hesitated, unsure if she should be very honest or very vague. "I, uhm, needed to practice," she said, following him down the hall. "I promised I'd help someone and," he had turned around to look at her, "I don't know where to start. Here seemed safe."

He looked her up and down and turned back to the stairway door. "Why shouldn't it?" he said, "It's your home, after all."

"I guess," she mumbled absently.

Douglas had disappeared down the stairs. Topper stared into the unfriendly black well with some dismay, but Douglas was friendly and she needed help. Swallowing her doubt, she stepped down into the darkness.

She passed doorways, large wooden doors with heavy iron hinges. She assumed they went to the other floors, but didn't have time to check.

The stairs seemed to go far longer than the building was tall, but finally a glow appeared at the bottom of the steps.

It had been years since Topper had set foot in the umbral aspect of the liberty. A score of unpleasant memories rushed through her head as she reached for the big iron door handle. Mostly guilt. She swallowed. She'd gotten herself beat up, nearly killed, and jack had taken the pack to war. She'd been too curious, too hasty, and and pulled the whole sept, half the city even, into bloodshed. And the Liberty had been a huge casualty.

Telling herself that, rationally, it hadn't all been her fault. It couldn't have been. She opened the door.

Warmth and light spilled out and onto the floor. The smell of fresh bread and mulling spice wafted out. She took a deep wiff. For a shade of reality, it certainly smelled like home should. She stepped over the threshold.

It wasn't the same. The fire in the hearth was much smaller than she remembered. There where a few tables and chairs, but it was mostly sparse and empty. The once beautiful leaded glass windows where shuttered, never having been replaced after they had been so violently broken. A few ceiling beams where new. They looked oddly out of place next to the huge hand hewn beams on the outsides of the room. She could still see the char marks between them.

The door swung shut behind her with a loud clank.

"Ah, there you are," Douglas turned at the sound. "Bread?" he asked, pulling the board out of the top of the fire. He offered it in her direction, smiling. Then his face fell.

"What's the matter, then?" he asked.

Topper realized her eyes where wet and hastily rubbed her arm across her face in an attempt to compose herself. Douglas glanced around the room and his expression softened. "Ah, its been a while hasn't it?" Not quite her old self, is she?" He hefted the paddle over the tables and across the room to the large serving side board. "Don't you worry," he said in the tone of the terminally optimistic "We'll get the old girl back to her former glory."

Topper took a few steps further into the room. She ran her hands along the heavy table, her fingers falling into pits and scars she was sure hadn't been there before.

"Cheer yourself," Douglas insisted when she didn't respond.

"Is this my fault?" she finally asked, her voice very quiet.

"Your fault?" he stopped what he was doing. " What are you talking about?"

"The..the whole fire, the pipe bomb," she waved her hands around to the broken windows. "I always felt like it was," Douglas was staring at her with his hands on his hips. "Like it was my fault."

"How could you think that," he asked, astonished.

She shrugged, a little surprised he didn't agree. "If I hadn't've gone with William," this was not the conversation she had planned on having, but now that she had started, she found she couldn't stop. "if i hadn't gotten in the way, there would have been no quarrel between Jack and the..."

Douglas interrupted, "That quarrel started long before you came. If you hadn't gone with William, he'd likely be dead and we'd still have this," he held his hands out to the room, "to deal with." He shook his head and returned to the baked goods. "You might have hastened the conflict, little sister," he said as he worked, "but you by no means caused it."

Topper stood somewhat shocked by his dismissal of her guilt. She'd been fearing coming back to the Liberty because of it. She'd spent years thinking she had been directly responsible for the demise of her home, of Jack's home, of the cairn. So convinced, she avoided it altogether.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Douglas asked, "Did you ever tell Jack your worries?"

"No," she said, coming further into the room.

"Why not?" he crossed his brow, "You think so little of him?"

"No!" Topper's head shot up and she met his eyes directly. "No, I think the world of Jack. I gave up everything, not that I had anything before, but, I," she pulled out a chair and sat down. "I love Jack. He's the best father I've ever had." She saw the question before it came. "I haven't been the best daughter. He deserves better."

"I don't see how deserve comes into it," he said, mounding another roll of dough onto the board and heading back to the fire. "You need to leave the self pity and get on with your business. this," he waved the now empty bread board at her, "This'll kill ya."

Topper assumed the conversationwas over as he went back to his tasks. She rubber her eyes with one hand and then took another look around. It jad been a long time since she had been ion the tavern, she realized. She hadn't set foot in the dream side of the Liberty cafe in eight years, at least. Jack had told her the cafe building sat on a spot that had once been a public house where revolutionaries planned attacks on the Brittish troops stationed in Boston. The original building was long gone, but the spiritual presence perevered. She rolled her gaze around, looking for evidence of its other iterations. There had been a field hostpital, a speak easy. It had been abandoned for a while.

Toppers attention was caught by an odd glow in the corner, around a small partition wall. It was a bluish glow, like a tv. She leaned back in the chair to get a better look. In the "real" world, that nook was where the free use ccomputers sat, in littler cubbies, like old phone booths. Come to think of it, it might have been where the phone booths sat back in the day. She stood up and crossed the room. Sure enough, tucked around the corner, out of sight of the rest of the thge room and totally out of place, was a small mac. It's friendly littlelogo glowing happily in the dim fire light. Topper looked around, a little confused, for a power sourse. She found none. She quietly pulled up a chair. She tapped the keyboard. The screen staticed to life and the image of an apartment, not an antiquated colonial, but a totally modern looking loft popped up on the screen. she peered intently at the details. It didn't look like the apartments upstairs. The architecture was all wrong. She looked at the shirts tossed over the IKEA looking couch, behind the couch were very Tidy book shelves, a few plants. She could sort of see the corner of a large loft style galley. A flicker of movement in the corner made her jump. She reevaluated the picture and realized it wasn't a picture at all. It was a web cam. The apartment on the other side was, in fact, on the other side. She stood up and stuck her head around the wall.

"Douglas," she asked. He looked up from wiping a glass clean with his shirt sleve. "Where did this come from?"

He took note of where she was pointing. "Oh THAT," he said dismissively. "Mr. Flynn insisted on that." He shook his head. "Why Cerebus allowed it I'll never know."

"Flynn," Topper caught her breath. "Flynn was here?"

"Well, no," he said. "Not 'in' here. He and Mr. Ishmael made the arangements."

Topper's hopes for help fell again. Flynn was a namer, a technomage at that. If he could get to the iumbra, surely Mel could. But if he hadn't actually stepped over. Still...  
>Hopefully, she sat back down at the terminal. She looked for a camera. None. She tapped the spacebar. A dock popped out from the side of the screen. She scrolled for a messaging icon. This had worked once before, a very long time ago and not in the umbra, but maybe, if she was lucky...<p>

She clicked on a familiar icon and a chat box opened. She ehsitated only a second.

.Flynn.? she typed. she hit return. with no hestitation the reply:

.Topper, WTF?.

Well, he was home.

Um. .Flynn, i need ur help.

.u r at Liberty? WTH. whr is Jack?.

.he's ok, everything is fine.

.r u sure?.

.yes. .mostly.

.MOSTLY?.

.plz calm down.

.this is an emergncy station, didn't anybody tell u?.

.no, just got home.

There was a long pause. Topper looked around, halfway expecting him to walk through the door.

.sorry. iraq, i forgot.

.no worries.

.if this isn't emergncy, i'll call u later.

.no, plz energencey. personal emergency.

Another long pause.

.ok?.

.is there a better way ti do this?.

.look under the table & giv me 5 min.

Topper bent down and looked under the table. there was a small wooden crate, in it where a few carefully packed periferal devices, including a usb headset/microphone.

"You are fucking kidding me," she said to the air.

Five long minutes passed. Topper watched a few "regulars", or that's what she assumed they where, come in and take seats. They were bundled against the cold. Topper frowned. They where really wrapped up. Like arctic explorers. Absently, she glanced at the windows, forgetting that they had been shuttered years ago. She looked at the screen. She had time to run outside, right? Before she could slide out to do so, a face flashed into view. She rushed back to the screen.

"Ok, now what's so...whow," the man in the computer stopped short when Topper sat down. "Well hey there, don't you look all grown up."

Topper smiled weakly. She really wasn't in the mood. "Thanks," she said flatly. Flynn looked older. Much older. It had been a few years since the last time they had worked together. Three, maybe five summers ago. His eyes looked aged, from the inside.

"So, kid, whadda ya need?"

Topper took a deep breath.

"I need help helping someone. I promised I would help get her over HERE so she could find something she lost," Topper watched Flynn's smiling face as she spoke.

"You're nuts," he said strait faced.

"Please, Flynn," she begged, "I'm grasping here. She looked so desperate."

"I know she was," he shot back, "I know what she's up against."

"You do?" Topper sat back hard in the chair. "She said there where others, are you ok?"

Flynn nodded off her concer. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, but I KNOW what..." he stopped abruptly. "You can't help her."

"I don't have time to agrue with you," she said forcefully. "Do you know how I can get her across or not?"

Flynn pursed his lips and rapped his fingers on the table. Topper watched him scratch his chin, then the back of his neck.

"I didn't help you," he started frantically clicking away at the keyboard. "You're both going to need to focus. I don't think a mirror is going to do it for her. Essencially, you have to convince the veil that she KNOWS she can cross. Its all about perception."

"That sounds easy," she said.

"Its not," he barked. "this is nuts," he mumbled and typed some more. "You're both gonna get killed."

"Flynn."

"What."

"You know I'm talking about Mel."

Flynn stopped typing and looked dead at her, It was very unsettling thru the screen. he was quiet for a moment.

"Yeah, I know."

"You knew she's my sister?" She already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I knew."

"How long have you know her?"

"A while. We've known each other a while."

"How long have you known we were sisters?"

Flynn stopped typing again and sighed.

"Longer than you have. Only so many Wickford's around, Brandy," he threw in her first name for effect, 'And I don't believe in coincidence."

"Do you know what's happening to her?"

"I think I do," he offered.

There was silence.

"Well?" she insisted.

"Imagine that..."

"I don't want to imagine anything," she demanded. "Tell me."

"There's been a major majical earthquake," he said. "Essentially."

"That seems like an over simplification."

'It's actually pretty acurate," he said. "Think about the casualties in an earthquake. loss of communication, no travel. You've always had trouble getting back and forth, imagine how hard it would be if there was suddenly no road, or bidge, or whatever you people call it." He looked up at her, she tried not to look embarased. "Don't feel bad, you took an ancor as soon as you signed on with Jack. Glass Walkers are notoriously bad at stepping sideways."

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

"I've hung out with your kind for years now," he said. "A little info is bound to rub off." he glanced at her without turning his head. "What are you an expert in?"  
>Topper sucked in her breath and ignored what he might be implying to deal with the task at hand.<p>

"So we need to focus," she pushed.

"Not to focus, A focus. But you'll need to concentrate too," he sighed. "Her kind is attached to natural ritual. You need something like that. A pond or something. That'd be good. Probably harder for you, though."

"Look, if you now what we're looking for..."

"I don't," he cut her off. "But I know you'll have to go deep to find it. Nothing like Mel's avatar is going to be hanging about so close to the physical."

Topper sighed. She was in way over her head and she hadn't even started.

"Thanks Flynn," she said.

"Remember, I didn't help you," he pointed his finger at her, "And please, don't get yourself killed." And he got up and walked away. the apartment was empty behind him. She could hear him walk away, jingle some keys, slam the door.

Topper took the head phones off and put them back in the box under the table. She sighed. It was a start.

While she had been pressing Flynn for more useful information, the tavern had filled considerably. No one seemed to take notice of her. The patrons where a mixed lot, different eras, men and women. One thing in common, though, they all looked like they had seen better days. Not injured spirits, but not whole either. She watched them move about. they didn't always seem to notice one another. She sat in the corner and watched until Douglas finally came and interrupted her thoughts.

"Do you have a solution?" he asked, smiling and wiping his hands on his apron.

Topper looked up at him from where she sat. "No," she said, "But I have a plan."

Douglas smile broadened, "And you think you're so different from jack," he said. "You're going back then?"

"Yes," she said, "But not here, Jack's office maybe?"

Douglas frowned a little. "That's private, miss. I'm not sure if..."

Topper had already stood and was moving toward where she knew the office to be.

"It's ok, Douglas," she said, "I'm in charge of the cafe," she held up her hand to indicate deference to his seniority, "Tera firma operations only," she smiled, "Till Jack gets back." She'd won a lot of arguments and opened a lot of doors on that smile. "It'll be fine, Jack won't mind," she hoped it worked on spirits.

"Well," he said, contemplating.

"Thank you, Douglas," she said and without waiting for a 'no', she back sprinted to the office door. She almost stopped, thinking it might be locked, or warded, but the handle turned easily and she slipped in.

She was amazed. the office was exactly the same.

"Huh," she said outloud, "Wierd."

She resisted the urge to snoop in Jack's file drawers, grabbed a handful of peanuts off the dish on the desk and forced her way back out of the umbra through the door to the back stairs. Out was always easier than in. Almost as if the spirit world was happy to be rid of her. She took two deep breaths and re-centered herself, then headed to the kitchen of the cafe for a few long shots. She really needed to relax.


End file.
